


Motorcycles for Beginners

by mrs_d



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, First Kiss, M/M, mutual crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21535351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: “They’re safe enough if you’re careful. And—” Steve made a sound that was almost a grunt, and Sam almost choked on his beer. “The power? The speed? There’s nothing like it.”
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Comments: 19
Kudos: 80





	Motorcycles for Beginners

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a tiny fic for the inktober prompt "Ride," but it got a little out of hand and grew into its own thing.
> 
> ETA: Holy cow, this is my 100th fic in this fandom! (And my 79th aboard the HMS SamSteve o_o) Thanks to everyone for making it such a fun place to be. Here's to 100 more! \o/

“Never?” Steve repeated incredulously. His cheeks were flushed, his lips pink like he was wearing cherry lip gloss, and the blue of his eyes jumped out, even in the yellowy light of the bar. He was beautiful — happy and loose, almost drunk on Thor’s magical moonshine — and Sam’s heart ached a little just to look at him.

“Never,” Sam confirmed. He gave himself a mental shake, so he could focus on the conversation rather than the man he was having it with. “I’ve never driven a motorcycle. Never even ridden on one, actually.”

“Why not?” Steve asked, with just the barest hint of a whine in his voice.

Sam laughed. “Not all of us are invincible, Rogers,” he said. “Some of us squishy humans are pretty damn vincible, in fact. And when you grow up hearing stories from your aunt, the ER nurse, you steer clear of that shit.”

Steve tilted his head, conceding the point. “But they’re safe enough if you’re careful. And—” Steve made a sound that was almost a grunt, and Sam almost choked on his beer. “The power? The speed? There’s nothing like it,” Steve concluded.

He stopped the bartender on her way by and ordered another glass of whiskey, which gave Sam a chance to recover. He declined a third beer when Steve offered, though — he didn’t want to know what kind of poor decisions he’d be tempted to make if he got too drunk when Steve was like this.

The whiskey appeared, and Steve — with barely a glance around him to see if anyone was looking — shook a couple drops of Thor’s liquor into the glass.

“You’re gonna get us kicked out,” Sam told him, which was obviously a mistake, since Steve gave him a challenging, teasing look that Sam knew all too well.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little danger, _Wilson?”_ Steve said, emphasizing the last name because Sam had used his a moment ago. It was a defense mechanism that Sam had adopted, to put distance between them when his feelings got too much. He’d been foolish to think that Steve hadn’t noticed.

“I’m not afraid,” Sam protested, hoping he sounded at least somewhat normal. “I just want to finish my beer before they make me leave. This shit’s expensive, you know. Not like the old days where you could get a glass for a hay penny and still have enough leftover for a sandwich.”

Steve laughed, full and free the way he so rarely did. Sam’s chest contracted again, but he chuckled through it. “Don’t worry, Sam,” Steve said, “the owner and I have an arrangement. And besides, drinks are on me tonight.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll have three more,” Sam joked. He laughed when Steve reached over to stop him from signaling the bartender. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he said.

But Steve didn’t let go. His hand had slipped down to Sam’s forearm, where he’d grab if Sam caught him out of the air, and, maybe it was Sam’s imagination, but he thought Steve squeezed just a bit. He was giving Sam that look he sometimes did — the one that Sam could easily misinterpret if he let himself.

So he broke the moment, eased his arm out from under Steve’s hand, and took another drink.

“Is that what the motorcycle thing is about for you?” he asked. “The danger?”

Steve frowned slightly at Sam’s movement, but he shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. It started just because bikes were familiar. Cars looked really weird to me when I first woke up, but a motorcycle? The design’s hardly changed since my day.”

“Cool,” said Sam, grateful to be back on familiar territory. “But I’m guessing they didn’t have helmets back then?”

Steve gave an embarrassed chuckle. _“That_ may be about the danger,” he admitted.

Sam shook his head. “Adrenaline junkie.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Look who’s talking.”

Sam didn’t have a rebuttal for that; he knew he was just as bad as Steve, for all that everyone looked at the two of them and called him the sensible one.

“You should come upstate with me this weekend,” Steve went on. “I can teach you.”

“Teach me...?” Sam repeated. “What?”

“Motorcycles,” Steve explained. His cheeks were glowing bright red, but he shrugged again. “Tony hates it when I ride on the grass, but there’s a big patch that Thor’s already wrecked, so we can take a tour, and I can show you the basics. What do you think?”

Sam thought about what motorcycle lessons with Steve would be like. He thought about sharing that space with him, feeling the engine rev between their legs. He looked at Steve’s jacket, draped over the vacant seat beside them, and thought about being pressed up against Steve’s back, so close despite the layers of clothing between them. He thought about breathing it in, the scent of the leather and whatever product Steve used that made him smell so damn good all the time.

Sam thought about all of this, and knew the sensible answer was no.

“Yeah,” he said, addicted to the rush as always. “Yeah, let’s do that. Teach me how to ride.”

Steve’s eyes widened, his pink lips parted slightly. He glanced down, just once, just for one hungry second, at Sam’s body — and Sam realized how suggestive his words had been.

In a flash, Sam saw what he could do. He could laugh it off, put some space between them, remind Steve that he’s going to bring a couple helmets for them. He could say he had to go to the bathroom, fake a stomach bug, or text someone to call him about a fake emergency that would mean he couldn’t go anywhere this weekend. He could — and he hated himself for thinking of this — pull the _no homo_ defence and pretend like he hadn’t said what he’d just said, or he hadn’t meant it like that.

But none of that was right, and Steve was far from stupid enough to fall for any of it. The air between them had changed, the noise of the bar seemed muted, and Sam saw another course of action unfolding before him.

He leaned closer, let himself reach out, let his fingers brush the denim of Steve’s knee, where he’d never dared to touch before, far outside the bonds of usual friendship. He was surprised to see his hand wasn’t shaking, but Steve kind of was — his leg muscle quivered like it was a struggle to hold still.

Steve exhaled at Sam’s touch and leaned in, bringing his warmth and that maddeningly delicious scent with him. Their shoulders were all-but pressed together, a line of connection that felt as right as fighting or flying together.

Sam looked up. Their noses were almost touching. He could smell the whiskey now, too, the fruity traces of the only liquor that worked on Steve.

“I really want to kiss you, Sam,” Steve in a low voice.

A thrill ran through Sam at the words, from his ears down his spine to the pit of his stomach, where a familiar but long-denied sensation was pooling. _Then do it,_ he wanted to say, but his throat wasn’t working.

So he moved instead, his lips finding Steve’s with no hesitation — now that it’d been given permission, his body chased what he wanted, what he’d wanted for months now. Steve kissed him back, lush and eager, and hot — so hot. His mouth was fire, and Sam was kindling.

Steve’s hand landed on his lower back and pulled him to the edge of his seat, until he thought he would topple over from the imbalance and the way that Steve’s kiss was making his head spin. Steve steadied him, held him up, held him close, let Sam melt into him like butter.

Steve eased up after a moment, allowing Sam to take a deep breath. He slowly opened his eyes, half-afraid that he would wake up in bed because he’d only dreamed of kissing Steve again. But Steve was still there, the bar was still there, and the bartender was pointedly cleaning a glass with her back turned to them.

“Hi,” Sam said dazedly.

“Hi,” Steve breathed. He leaned back into his own seat, and of course he looked a little smug when he picked up his drink again.

“So,” Sam said after a moment. “Motorcycles, huh?”

“Pretty hot,” Steve said. His eyes drifted down Sam’s body again, full of want. It was a expression that Sam had fought so hard to keep out of his own gaze, and he felt himself go warm all over.

“Pretty hot,” Sam agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> "AND THEN THEY BANGED," yelled the author, in case that wasn't obvious.


End file.
